Queen of Denial
by Harlequin Sequins
Summary: So out walks a new woman, the great and sometimes terrible-in-her-way-with-words Leah Clearwater who has left the halfway house of broken hearts and bitter ennui. Beware. And take me as you will. Leah-centric; Blackwater.


AN: I was feeling rather snarky. And Leah started talking. So, I let her speak. Here's the product - mostly internal dialogue and a lotta pointless Jacob/Leah banter. You could call this fluff, if you're really desperate. If you squint, you can definitely see some Blackwater luvin' at the end. Enjoy! And feel free to express your opinion or point out any fatal mistakes I made in regards to grammar....or something of the like. :)

Disclaimer- I don't own Jacob Black or Leah Clearwater.

* * *

There's a lot of things people don't know about me. Firstly, that I'm a genius. That should be excessively obvious, don't you think? I mean, I come up with all this sarcastic bullshit to insert into their heads all the time without even the slightest hint of exertion and they still don't get it? Men are thickheaded, I suppose. Or just meat buckets with snouts.

Isn't that a lovely picture…

And anyway, it was all Sam's fault I'm bitter. Someone always has to play the blame game to find out whose fault it is, right? It's never me. It's always someone else. At least, that _was _my theory, before the new one came flying in at me like a bat straight out of hell and hit me square in the face. I know my conscience is waiting for it, hanging on every last echo of wordless promise like it's the cure for the end of the world.

Here it is – _It's me. I'm stuck in the past. I need to move on. I'm a fur-covered, stink-laden wolf baby. It's all me. _

So you can go fuck yourself, conscience. Don't forget to practice safe mind-sex and use a condom. You win. You always do, so why do I always feel so surprised when you end up taking the cake and I have to stuff my face in a fat bowl of steaming humble pie?

At least there's some semblance of maturity going on up there in that head of mine.

So I end up exercising my theory and decide to go renegade. I mean, why not Leah? You've already separated yourself from the toxin, the poisonous reminder that you're just not _that _good, at least not for Sam Uley to break through the mind haze for you. Why _not_ follow Seth into the dreaded unknown? Besides, Seth's still too young to be cavorting about the forest anyway. And despite the fact that, in human form, he was intimidating enough to make the most ferocious gladiator piss his pants and run home to his mother, there was still the bloodsucker clan to watch out for. And their demon leech-spawn.

I didn't trust them. I didn't want Seth touching them with a galvanized ten foot pole.

Well, Sam's all pity-partied out. I've worn that meat-head to the ground like some cheap whore and I won't do it any longer. I'm Leah Clearwater for fuck's sake and it's time to take myself seriously. No more contrition. No more hanging on and kicking dead horses because that gets me nowhere, it doesn't do me any fucking good to beat the living shit out of the past; it's dead anyway, there's no hope for revival (plus, the stink's a bitch).

It's time to get myself a life and move on.

Besides, the rent's cheaper here…Jacob puts up with my crap. I still have to hear Sam ghosting through my head sometimes, an unhappy haunt, but at least I don't have to see that pitying shadow flit across his face.

I'm tired of shadows, I'm tired of wasting away in the grottos of despair. I want light again. I want to feel the sun and let her embrace me, unfurl me from my hardened shell and let me run again. Empty of all regrets. Rebirth is just around the bend.

Jacob is [mostly] gracious when it comes to my constant output of mental bitch-slapping. He takes it with a grain of salt, rubs it deep into old wounds and figures he's doing me a big old favor by taking me in like some waif off the street. At first, the reaction I mustered on behalf of Jacob's generosity was born of animosity – _he can go screw himself too._ Because that was old Leah. The queen of animosity. The slave of apathy. I can just imagine myself, staring down the path of least resistance, which is doing nothing. When I left Sam's Pack for good, I threw caution to the wind and opted for a different face of apathy – this one is the birth of change.

So, I spared them the dramatics and left. Walked off. No bitching and moaning, trying to keep my mind as blank as a clean slate, because that's what I wanted. I just turned myself over to Jacob's still doubtful Alpha aptitude and invested what little trust I had left to spare in his cunning. Because, despite what people think, Jacob can be smart.

When he's not kneeling before the altar of religious devotion to that aspirant bloodsucker.

Here I am, World! Ready to spread some silver-edged wings and all that fairytale-beginnings bullshit that, as a little girl, I thrived on. Reality's not so simple. It isn't all lovely meadow-drawn confessions of love and dragonflies and sunshine butter (although, butter _is _something rather beautiful to behold, especially on toast). If that made any sense at all, then I've made my case. I'm free.

So out walks a new woman, the great and sometimes terrible-in-her-way-with-words Leah Clearwater who has left the halfway house of broken hearts and bitter ennui. Beware. And take me as you will.

* * *

It's rather annoying that Jacob and I seem to never be apart now. What, just because I'm his godforsaken Beta means that I have to be at his beckon call? Fat chance, Mr. Black. I'm my own woman now, remember? No more slavery for me.

And since I became the Siamese twin to a lovesick whelp, the idea of my supposed freedom is becoming rather farfetched in contrast to this manacled muscle-prison. The wolf-man is a sculpture of sinew. As he lumbers beside me, content in his blessed human silence, I transiently entertain the concept of throwing him off a cliff, just to distract myself from the disappointment of an unsuccessful liberation. I had a hypothesis that needed testing - to see if he floats or sinks under all that unnecessary mass.

If the latter was to happen, I suppose I'd have to figure out how to phase into Superwoman and jump in after him, being the leaner of this mismatched pair.

That didn't seem likely to happen anytime soon. Though, I half-affectionately deemed this colossal my partner in all crime. At the same time, half-hate him so much that I wanted to personally perform a lobotomy on him (though, sometimes I wonder what I'll be extracting if there's nothing there) just to rid myself of his thick-headed commentary.

I suppose I would miss him. But suppose I didn't?

There's a good punchline if I ever heard of one.

In short, a lot of conflicting emotions behind my slipshod composure. No wonder I'm such a heartless bitch.

I sighed, one of those noisy, overly apparent exhales that usually held the threat of verbal onslaught. My goddamn favorite, that's what.

"Is there a reason I'm being held prisoner against my will?" I asked. Casually, of course, and with the utmost elegance. "Or are you just so void of purpose now without your precious Bella that you have to latch on to me?"

He sidestepped the question. Oh Jacob, such an _artful_ dodger. "Are you accusing me of being a leech?"

"Or a letch," I offered. "Leechery and lechery seem to go hand in hand. Especially with hormone-engorged teenage boys."

He evaded the insult, I had to give him at least some half credit for that. Usually a good ego bruise would send him to the proverbial floor, panting theoretical breaths and shaking his fist, in light of his walloping, in the assurance of hypothetical vengeance. If that were the situation, that is.

"Only you would say something like that, Leah." He sighed.

Patience…now that's an ugly old mug I haven't seen around here in a while. Not since everyone's been sprouting fur and suffering the widespread pandemic of dog breath that could make even Rosalie Cullen's noise hair curl.

I decided to go out on a limb and probe. "You didn't answer my question."

"Whoever said I had to?" He challenged.

I narrowed my eyes. "Your goddamned Beta, that's _who_."

Jacob tossed me a smug little grin. I had a right mind to sink his little tug boat of superiority right then and there, shudders beginning to wake from dormant dreams and surge through my body with mounting ferocity.

But I refrained. This here was a battle of brains, not brawn.

"Since your view of things is severely twisted, you being the queen of sarcastic bullshit and all, let me take this opportunity to enlighten you and lead you back down the path of reality - not _every_ single question you ask is going to be answered."

I snorted. Because apparently, my overused method of emulating the sound of a pig to convey frustration hasn't been disproved enough in its effectiveness on male stupidity. "What are you, some fucking heir of Socrates?"

"Wrong," Jacob replied. I could almost _smell _the arrogance seeping out of those atrocities he called arms. More like slings of meat if you ask me. "Actually, it was a kinder way of asking you to shut your mouth."

"You never said I was the queen of subtlety, oh exalted one," I rolled my eyes. Just for effect. And also because my brain was itching from all this nonsense. Had to scratch it somehow, right? "So, if I promise to make nice and suck up, may I ask again…what _are_ we doing?"

"I'd sure like to see you try and be nice, Leah. Nice isn't exactly your color."

I snorted again. Involuntary spasm of the nasal cavity, I suppose. Someday, I'll have to extract that pig…I mean, I'm already a fucking _dog_. Impersonating an animal that wallows in its own shit and is the epitome of filth doesn't exactly add to my depleted x-chromosome factor.

"Excuse me while I bust a gut. Why don't I give your ego a nice rub down while I'm at it?"

"To answer your question, we're having a team meeting."

"A team what-the-fuck?"

"Say it with me, Clearwater – _team meeting."_

"Don't degrade me, Black. Never mind the teeth and claws - I _have_ a meat cleaver."

He chuckled at my botched attempt to intimidate him. "Well then. That changes _everything, _Sweeney Todd."

"Sweeney Todd was a barber, you _moron_."

We rounded a corner and I was bombarded by another blinding scenic view of lush green. "So who gets to be the scapegoat today? Embry or Quil?"

"Neither."

"You're not touching Seth," I warned. "Beating him to a pulp until he begs for his life is my preordained lot in life. And I don't care how Alpha you think you are – you're not wrestling that title away from me."

"Not even from your cold, dead hands?"

"Not a chance," I replied aloofly. "So. No more mercy from me, bub. Hand it to me straight. What's the meaning of this spur of the moment rendezvous?"

When I received not even an attempt at a reply - no grunt, no shrug, no quiet shift of the eyes, not even one of those half-hums that makes even the calmest guy in the world lash out irrationally in a fit of nerves - I decided to raise the white flag and keep my mouth shut for a few minutes longer. It was sore anyway, from all the relentless drivel I've been spitting these days, just to keep my mind off Sam. The gash he left behind still hurts a little every once in a while, but lately it's been easier, ignoring the thick, dull ache that seems to resonate every Sam-related thought.

Besides, I didn't want to crush Jacob's delusions of mystery, if that's what launched his rocket. I mean, hey…a boy's got to dream about something, right? If what he entertained as the image of cool in his mind was being some russet-skinned adaptation of James Bond, all debonair and greased back hair dreams, then who was I to judge him? I, too, dreamed of _not _being an Amazon woman, taller than all these dainty little flower petal girls that practically broke apart on account of a rather hellish sneeze.

Besides, after the Bella mishap, he's been a little forlorn too, and I've had to sacrifice a lot of my own pride to keep his from plummeting. In my own twisted way, I try to look after Jacob. Make sure he'll heal. He's strong, even if he doesn't know it himself. Hell, it's one of the things I respect about Jacob…it's why he's the Alpha. The head honcho. My dear and somewhat delusional Captain Obvious…oh, what a deranged pair we make, eh somewhat newly established friend?

Old, if you consider how long I've put up with his antics. Too long in my fragile opinion.

Not too far ahead, I found myself looking on a familiar sight. Nostalgia was at hand. Two boys crawling all over one another like maggots on rotten flesh. I could give them all an ass-whooping just for excessively loutish behavior but there was old Nostalgia again sitting in her harbor, much too refined and poised and insistent on being acknowledged to ignore. Seth stood behind, like some self-imposed fanatic at a wrestling match. Smart kid…he was intelligent enough not to engage.

Jacob halted beside me and we both stared. Morbid curiosity, I figured. Like watching a car crash unfold or someone pick their nose. You just…couldn't…look…._away. _Not that nose-picking would ever be in the same league of catastrophic as car crashes but, it held its own creative record of striking the fear of God in many a stubborn nonbeliever. Just my opinion. Not that it mattered much.

But, in all seriousness, that small heap of russet skin and the blur of cropped black hair, rolling around on the grass like two toddlers battling over a drooly binky, was somehow my little source of happiness. Three boys, if you don't count Jacob, became my family. I already had Seth, who was family no mattered how much I wanted to throw him off a cliff [sometimes] (he and Jacob swan-dive together for all I fucking cared). But Quil and Embry managed to nestle their way into the fold. They fit like the puzzle pieces underneath the couch, the ones you lose when you're six and find one day, years later when you've thrown away the bigger picture. Then again, acceptance isn't just a push of a button. I just had to wait a little while to find it.

Jacob, though. Jacob was something different. Couldn't quite put my finger on what he was. A basset hound most likely. Pathetic in his own endearing way. But strong and brave and suffering from a rather severe and insistent manifestation of the Martyr complex. In my good old-fashioned fuck-you-and-have-a-nice-day opinion, that Bella sparkle-leech didn't deserve him. She could have her white leech for all I cared. Jacob was something special. And if she didn't see that well then she was better of where she was.

In her marble casing, with her demon spawn.

"A penny for your thoughts?" Jacob ventured.

"Make it a dime a dozen." I replied.

He laughed and did something so spontaneous then that I found myself rendered completely speechless for once. Fucking Jacob Black – space cadet of the universe, rendering _me _speechless?

He kissed my cheek. Attached those little lips of his to my skin and then ambled forward down the path as if nothing ever happened, hollering something that I just didn't quite catch (although, to be fair, in my current state of indolent being I probably wouldn't catch an earthquake) at the pack of boy-wolves.

My fingertips brushed against the tingling flesh.

Jacob Black just kissed my cheek. His lips made contact with my face.

And you know what, Sam Uley?

This Leah Clearwater fucking _liked_ it too.

* * *

THE END.


End file.
